


A Story Not Told

by RealisticDreamer



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: BagginShield Mentioned, Fem!Alatar - Freeform, OFC - Freeform, OMC - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:11:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealisticDreamer/pseuds/RealisticDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are the heroes you’ve heard tales told of, read books about, heard the songs recounting their glory, and the ones who are known by most. But there were yet more heroes to be had by Middle Earth, though their exploits would never be spoken of by the silver tongued loremasters nor have ballads sung by the gods blessed lips of the bards. Until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Story Just Begun

It was my hundred and eleventh birthday, the last birthday I would celebrate, and night had cast its shroud over the Shire. I’d been walking for only a few hours before I heard a single blood chilling shriek. I reached for Sting out of habit, not that I could actually put up much of a fight in my old age, but the reflex was still there. I cursed when I then reached into my pocket as I scurried down the road toward the woman who had cried out.     There was another cry from the woman, this one choking off mid way through.

Without thinking I ran around the bend looking frantically for any sign of the woman. Finally my eyes caught a glimmer of something dark on the ground, as I drew nearer the familiar smell of copper made itself at home in my mind. I followed the blood off the road just inside of a cluster of trees where a Hobbit woman sat slumped against a tree. She raised her head with a fierce look about her until she saw that I was an old man, “Thank the Gods,” she breathed out weakly, “Please, you must, you must help.”

As I drew near I could make out that she was very clearly a Took with her small mouth and the shape of her nose and jaw line, but she did not seem familiar to me. “Oh, dear!” Is all I could think to say as I step in a warm liquid I had thought myself rid of. What could I do? I crouched down beside her, only then seeing how pale she had become in the mere moments since I first saw her. “What happened?”

She fought to keep her eyes open as she held her arms out, “I-I was not strong enough after all.” In her arms I noticed a small child covered in his mother’s blood. Oh, dear indeed. Her comment had struck me as odd at the time, but it wasn’t until much later that I would gain the knowledge required to understand its true meaning. “Why isn’t it crying?” Babies are supposed to cry, even I knew that. She shook her head, “H-he’s fine, he just,” she trailed off as her eyelids became even heavier. I shook her shoulder, not entirely sure what to do. We were hours from the Bag End, I hadn’t passed a single soul on my way here, and the nearest town was Bree. Her eyes opened slowly, but they seemed to be staying open, so I asked her the most obvious question, “What’s his name?” There wasn’t any sense in troubling the poor thing further. It wouldn’t be long now. She smiled weakly as she pressed her lips to his forehead, “Griffo.” It came out as a simple breath, one that seemed to take a lot of her, “his name is Griffo.”

I tried my best to return her smile as the blood at my feet and the air around us grew colder. The boy probably wouldn’t make it given that he was covered in fluids and exposed to the night air. There was a bloody knife at her side with an odd string of flesh beside it. “What a splendid name. Is there anything you would like me to do? Is there someone I can bring him to?” 

She looked up from Griffo with pain in her eyes, “D-don’t take him to the Tooks.” The request puzzled me, and it must have shone for she shook her head with all her energy, “Not the Tooks. You can’t.” She was breathing heavily, her arms shaking under the weight of Griffo’s small body. “Are you sure? The Shire is just a few ho-” she cut me off with a ferocious glare and the knife that was at her side only moments ago was then shaking between us, “Not the Tooks. Not the Shire.” I raised my hands in surrender, “Do you have any other family then? Somoene in Buckland?” She dropped her arm to the ground with a sickening splash in exhaustion. “J-just...just keep him, keep him s-safe.” Her eyes began to close once more as her head swayed. I quickly shed my coat before snatching up Griffo before her arms went limp and her head fell forward. 

The night air easily tore through my shirt embedding itself in my old bones as I wondered aloud, “How are you not screaming?” Griffo’s eyes were wide open staring up at me with his mouth hanging open taking in air before releasing it in a little puff of vapor. My first instinct was to return to the Shire in secret and have Frodo help me take care of him at Bag End, but then the woman’s voice rang in my head, Not the Shire. I cursed as I made my way back to the road, “What in blazes are we to do, hm?” Griffo, the poor conversationalist he is, remained silent. “That’s what I thought.” I took off walking hastily in the direction of Bree. Without making any stops, other than to get my jug of milk and dropper out to feed him every few hours, we made it to Bree by the following night. Once there, I rented a room at the Prancing Pony, got new clothes for myself, found some diapers for Griffo, and I bought a goat. For free. Okay, so I burgled. It’s not important. We made our way to Rivendell after that. I think it may actually have been an easier journey to make with thirteen Dwarves and a wizard than a single Hobbit newborn and a goat. By the time we made it to the gates of Rivendell, I’d had to do laundry more than one hundred times and my bag permanently wreaked of...stained diapers. Needless to say, it was disposed of within the hour. 

*****

“After that, we were shown to our quarters, given whole new wardrobes, and Lady Andriel, the Loremaster of Rivendell, often spent time with Griffo and I reciting tales and helping me keep him entertained.” I take a sip of my tea to catch my breath. The cool breeze brushes against my aged skin as I sit with Lady Dis on the balcony looking out upon the ruins high above the valley where Thorin and Fili were lost to us. 

Dis smiles at me as she lowers her own cup, “She sounds like a gift from the gods.” 

I offer a derisive snort shaking my head, “I thought so too until Griffo was old enough to run. She taught him how to climb and move like an Elf, and now the boy can’t sit still for more than a few seconds.” As if to emphasize my point, a small rock lands on the table with a loud crack! “You see,” I nod up to where Griffo is climbing about just above us, “Always getting into trouble.” 

Dis laughs warmly, “And does he also have a thick skull and goes off of what he feels rather than what he thinks?” 

I shake my head with a soft groan, “You have no idea! It’s as though the boy just lunges right into any situation without a care in the world.” 

She nods thoughtfully, “And he always knows best. There’s no way he can be wrong.” 

I nod grunting in affirmation as I swallow more tea, “Oh! And I bet he says the harshest things to those he’s closest to.” 

“Yes!” I practically shout as I set down my cup, “He hits in all the right places when he’s arguing.” 

She shakes her head in sympathy, “But he has a good heart.” 

I feel the edges of my mouth quirk into a smile, “The best. Were Kili and Fili like this when they were growing up?” 

Dis smiles wickedly and I see her sympathy and platitudes for false in a moment of realization as she states, “No, but Thorin was.” 

I roll my eyes, my smile broadening as I think of him, “The man was an absolute brute.” 

She smirks wider, “But you loved him any way.” 

I sigh looking up at Griffo with a small sigh, “That I did.” Feeling that the atmosphere was getting heavy and noting that the sun was still up, I shrug, “But I haven’t got a clue how Griffo is ending up just like him, I mean, there’s no way he could know of him or how he acted.” 

Dis raises an eyebrow over her cup allowing it to serve as the question we both know it to be, “I haven’t told him any stories about Thorin yet, no. Nor has anyone else. Those who lived through it don’t wish to bring it up for fear it might hurt me, and those who know it don’t tell it because their elders don’t speak of it.” 

She sighs gently as she places her cup down, “He should know,” I hold a hand to keep her from continuing, “He’s just reached his fifth year, I’m not going to tell him of trolls, mountains that fight, goblins, orcs, and wars. I will tell him when I feel he is old enough for such things.” 

Dis raises her brows in challenge, “And you don’t think that he’s ever asked this Andriel to tell him a story or two with such things. As a sister and mother of such men, let me tell you, boys like Thorin and Griffo want to know the violent stories.” 

I swallow thickly thinking back on all the times Griffo’d come home from Andriel and be beaming from ear to ear as though he knew something I did not. “I shall have to have a word with Andriel when we get back to Rivendell.” 

Dis chuckled, “Shut up and drink your tea, Hobbit.” 

I laugh shortly as I raise my cup, “After you, Hag Under the Mountain.” We both struggle to not laugh as we finish our tea.


	2. Time Keeping and Ruin Creeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At his sixteenth year, Griffo had an adventure like that of his father, Bilbo Baggins. That changes with a pocket watch and a scarf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS for BoFA! You have been warned.

From what Ada tells me, Dale is nothing like what it used to be. That is to say, it is far better. According to the book he’s written, Dale was a place of ruin and was unfit for life until the dragon Smaug desolated Laketown and the Men of Laketown were led by Bard into the city. In the book, it was the beginnings of winter, just a few weeks after Durin’s Day, today, when the Men of Dale came to the Mountain to speak with Thorin Oakenshield.  


I often wonder how things would be different had Thorin lived. Would he and Ada have remained in Erebor together living proudly as kings? Or would they have kept their love secret and Ada would have been relegated to secretive meetings under the cover of night? If they had stayed in Erebor, would I even be alive? Most likely not. Though I can’t see Ada giving up the Shire or the stars. It wasn’t until the day I was born, sixteen years ago, that Ada had left, and even then it was with a heavy heart and the knowledge that it was necessary.  


No, Ada would have been in the Shire no matter what. He still reminisces about it sometimes. So the question becomes would Thorin have forsaken his rule to be with Bilbo, and then would they have kept it secret or not? In the Shire the only hate people have for anything is a lack of ale or food, if I’m to believe Ada.  


Ada is speaking once more with Auntie Dis, she has insisted I call her this since she met me eleven years ago. They seem to be in the middle of a very serious, and heated, discussion about the benefits and drawbacks of Auntie Dis taking a trip to Rivendell with us. Personally, I hope she chooses to come so that way we can spend the days together and I can sneak out with Andriel during the nights while Dis and Ada play games of riddles.  
The only thing stalling her agreement is her insistence that if she is going to be taking a leave from the mountain, she wants to go to the Shire and have Ada be the one to give her a tour. Apparently I have “cousins” in the Shire aside from the Tooks. Two half-bloods between an Elf and a Dwarf. I’d actually be excited if we were to go the Shire, if only to meet Frodo and these “cousins.”  


Since they’re wrapped up being “grown up” and bickering like children, now seems as good a time as any. I sneak away from the balcony and make my way quickly and silently through the halls of Erebor keeping to the shadows. The less people see me leave, the lesser chance I have of being strung up by my toes once we get back to Rivendell.  


I make it to the opening over the door and hide from the guards. If only I had Ada’s ring from the stories. I suck in my trim waist as I flatten myself against the shadow strewn wall shimmying to the corner. I pull the hood of my shirt up over my head and take deep breaths as I await the hourly shift change. Several minutes pass of the guards having menial conversations about the armory. Then, finally, they walk right by me without noticing. I check the time on Ada’s old pocket watch, wait until the guards are ten feet passed, then I duck out onto the wall and leap over the edge onto the neighboring rock face. I have a solid grip on my first try, then I look for handholds and footholds to complement it.  


I work my way down and to the bridge without any effort at all. The real trick will be getting out of sight before the new guards get there. I check the watch; I have ten seconds. I forget about being quiet as I push myself to go faster and get to my nearby mount. I haven’t got a clue what it is, but I know the dwarves use it in battle and it resembles a very large and stocky goat with curved horns. I have six seconds as I mount the creature. Five seconds. We begin climbing at a breakneck pace, and by the end of the second leap up the mountain, I’m out of time. I look over my shoulder and see the new guards taking up their post facing the opposite direction. Another few jumps and we should be at the top, then all that will be left is making my way along the mountain tops.  


When I’m at the top of the mountains, I don’t bother looking back. Either they saw me and are on their way to report, or Auntie needs to tell cousin Kili to get better guards. I get my bearings and pinpoint the ruined tower on the horizon. The trip over to it takes less time than I anticipated, and soon I’m at the edge of the fort. Ada and Auntie both refuse to speak of this place when I ask them of its history. I can only assume that it’s the tower where the line of Durin held its final stand against Azog as they would have simply told me if they didn’t know. My mount refuses to go any further and begins to buck after some long moments. I begin to dismount, but it’s too late. I’m thrown from my mount and I can feel a quickly cooling warmth against my neck. Sitting up proves to be a bad idea as the movement makes me lightheaded. I mutter an Elvish curse as I check the back of my head and find there to be no wound. I run my hand down to my hairline and flinch when my fingers brush a gash trailing from my hairline to the base of my neck. On the bright side, it’s thin. I should be getting dragged back to Erebor by the time I face any real danger from the wound.  


To slow the bleeding, just in case, I take out my wadded up scarf from my jacket pocket. Once the scarf is secured, I move into the lower parts of the fort to explore. The darkness in here is almost all consuming. I can’t imagine what Fili and Kili must have felt going through these halls looking for orcs. Granted they had torches, but still, I can’t imagine the light would make it any more pleasant.  
I wander with my hands on the walls until my eyes adjust to the darkness and I can make my way more quickly. I end up in a lower courtyard with a slow moving water fall that has the beginnings of ice forming atop it. This is where it happened. There are still faint blood stains on the grey stone of the courtyard’s floor where Fili landed.  


I look up to the top of the tower and picture a hulking white orc running a blond version of Kili through. The body of the blond apparition falls with a bone shattering Snap! and I can’t help the bile that rises in my throat. I swallow it back down as I shiver for reasons besides the chilling wind gusts. As I approach the blood stain, I can picture Kili’s hiding place, Thorin standing beside Bilbo as they watched in growing anger and horror, and Fili’s broken body lying in the middle. This time there’s no stopping the bile. When I finish, an arrow sails through the air beside my ear close enough for me to feel the air as it passes. “I know, Kili,” I turn around and another arrow is flying at me. I duck to the right in time that it grazes my arm rather than piercing my heart. Definitely not Kili. At least they waited until I wasn’t vomiting? I scramble away and into the darkness of the halls I left. I trip going up the stairs several times, but I’m not making any noise, so it’s not like they can shoot at me with any accuracy.  
I wind my way through the maze of corridors until I make it to the top floor. This is the only way back to Erebor, and whoever is out there knows it. I check the pocket watch and given the normal response times, they should have already sent someone for me. Please don’t be dead, rescue missioners. I’d feel awful if they died for me.  


I take a deep breath to try and calm down before I turn back. I’m either going to bleed out from my fall, freeze to death, or get shot. I don’t think any of those are particularly ideal options, but Ada always tells me to work with what I have. So what do I have? I have...a pocket watch, a scarf that is keeping me from bleeding out, and a lost goat-thing that is probably already halfway to Dale by now. Fantastic. I try to find my way back down so I might try and climb the tower, but halfway there I get paranoid that whoever is out there has figured out that I knew there was no escape. Ada’s ring would really come in handy right now. What did he do with that thing anyway? Eh, it won’t matter in about ten minutes.  


I sit down against the nearest wall, “In ten minutes nothing will matter,” I whisper to myself. I tuck my knees up to my chest resting my chin on top of them. I try to take slow and deep breaths to make as little noise as possible and keep my heart rate down. It’s kind of funny, now that I think about it. I was so desperate for an adventure: always climbing in the woods, the city, and the mountains, I would pretend that my chores were quests, and I always begged Andriel and Ada for their stories. Yet here I am, faced with my first real brush with danger, and I’m hiding in the dark. I mutter, “I should have stayed in Erebor with Ada and Auntie.” I’m just not like Ada. Even Frodo, from the few times Ada has mentioned him, seems more brash and adventurous than other Hobbits. I guess you have to be a real Baggins to do something noble, or even bold.  


What am I saying? Bilbo Baggins raised me. He taught me to not be like other Hobbits, and there’s no one more of a Baggins than Ada. I am a real Baggins. I set my jaw and stare up where the exit is, then I look back in the direction of the courtyard. I swallow my fear and push myself up before heading down to the courtyard. I run quietly through the darkened maze before running out into the courtyard. The midday sun shines brightly off of the frozen waterfall as I sprint for the arrow that had missed me. I snatch it up as another whizzes by me. This time I take note of where it comes from: it’s on the same level I am. It came from the staircase on the other-I slide on the cooled stone floor as another arrow passes where my chest should have been.  
I come to a stop right by the waterfall and I roll off the edge of the cliff. Please be there, please be there, pl-OUCH! The wind is knocked out of me as I land on the remainders of a decrepit bridge. The archer runs across the river causing it to crunch under foot but not break. It has to be an Elf, but I thought Elves and Dwarves were at peace. Uneasy, yes, but still at peace, nonetheless.  


I roll over onto my stomach and begin crawling for the steps down the mountain. If I can climb down, the archer might not be able to get me. I examine the arrow as I stand up ignoring the pain in my ribs, “This isn’t Elvish.”  
The archer steps up to the edge with their bow drawn, “No,” comes a distinct regional accent I’ve not yet heard, “It certainly is not.”


	3. You’d Better Rhûn!

I struggle to stand up, “Who are you?”

I study the archer’s grim face: it’s that of a Man, perhaps in his thirtieth year, with blue eyes and long dark hair ending at his shoulders. It doesn’t appear to have been washed in quite a time, and I’m fairly certain he’s tall for a Man. I turn my attention from his face to his unwavering arrow, unlike any I’ve seen before, but if he’s a Man, that would explain it. His fingers are almost black, whether it’s from insufficient cleaning or an attempt at camouflage, I’m unsure. I follow his arm up his black leather coat and then shift my gaze back up to his steely blue eyes. He’s still not answered my question. I begin to ask again as I refuse to die at the hands of a stranger, “Wh-” He shushes me quietly before narrowing his eyes and drawing the arrow back as far as he can.

I close my eyes in acceptance of my fate. When I hear the arrow fly from the bow, I can’t help but wonder what’s waiting on the other side. Nothing happens. I open my eyes and pat my chest for an arrow only to find I’ve not been shot. Before I shout in joy, my would-be assassin looks to the staircase, back to me, then to the staircase again. I run over to the stairs without making a sound and hide from view of the waterfall. What in blazes is going on?  
I keep silent as someone joins Blue Eyes with a vastly different accent consoling him, “I know your rule about children, Strider, but no one must know that we’ve met.”

Bl-Strider- interjects with, “I understand why it had to be done. If anyone from Rhûn found out that not only did you meet with me, but that you helped me, there would be untold consequences for the both of us.”  
Strider begins to walk away from the waterfall to draw his ally’s attention away, but his partner remains where he is, “Rhûn, as you know, has been gathering forces for the Dark One,” could this be the enemy Gandalf disappeared to fight so often? The one that led Azog and his Uruk hai? “What you don’t know is that the Civilised Men living there are planning to march against Rohan within a few years’ time. The Barbarians have already sent scouts over; spies to keep an eye on the Sea of Rhûn. With the combined forces of Rhûn, there will be no army of Men or Elves in Rhovanion and Rohan.”

There is a match struck and a pipe lit before he continues, “With those two kingdoms out of the way,” Strider finishes his statement for him, “There will be no one left to stop him. Gondor will not get involved as they will see it as the problem of Rohan’s Men, and Rohan will not get involved if the Elves are attacked. I must report back to the Rangers.”

Strider’s ally finally leaves the waterfall, “And I must return to Rhûn. I will meet you back here next year?” I scurry down the mountain as quickly as I can, not caring for the noise I make or the trouble I’ll surely be in. I must tell Kili and Auntie Dis. The farther I go, the fainter I feel. The wound at the back of my neck has stopped bleeding, but it might be too late. It’s sunset by the time I reach the base of the mountain, and with the way the stars are moving, I’m not going to be able to make it back to the mountain. I stumble toward the mountain until night falls and darkness begins to seep into my vision. The world goes black as I fall to the ground a league away from Erebor.

*****

The next thing I know, I’m reclining on a large stone bed with a heavy blanket over me. Shoot. I was actually kind of hoping I wouldn’t make it to Erebor. I blink my eyes lazily a few times as I look around for Ada, but he’s not in the room. I quickly turn to the door and find it open, the hallway on the other side is empty.

As I sit up, though, I hear the sound of several metal boots on their way. I feel my stomach lurch at the prospect of facing Ada, but at the same time, I need to tell him about the meeting I overheard. I slide back under the covers and close my eyes. I never said I was in a rush to tell him.

The footsteps draw closer until they cease just outside my door and I hear Kili tell them, “I’m just visiting my cousin.” It amazes me that after all these decades he is still annoyed by the omnipresence of his king’s guard.  
Kili knocks, on the off chance that I may actually answer. With a heavy sigh he steps across the threshold before closing the door and telling me, “You know, I’m missing the exchange of gifts in the great hall because of you,” I want to smile because we both know that isn’t exactly a punishment, “You can open your eyes any time now, I know you’ve just been pretending since we found you. You’ve always been an attention hog, breaking bones and now apparently bashing open your head just to have the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain doating on you.”

There’s a stretch of silence that passes before he continues, his voice sounding tired, not at all like I know it to be, “Don’t you leave me to. You know, just over seventy years ago, your father hit his head in that same ruined tower,” his voice wavers, “and very bad things happened that day. So you need to wake up sooner rather than later, Griff.”

In that moment of weakness, I make my decision. I allow my head to turn a bit, I srunch up my face, and let out a low groan, “Mm. Wh-Kili?”

Kili’s face snaps back to its typical playful smirk as roughly drags me up into a bone crushing hug, “Oh! It’s so good to see your eyes open,” he holds me away from him, his expression turning grim, “You know you did something very bad, don’t you?” I bite the inside of my lower lip during the dramatic pause. We both know what’s coming next, “You didn’t invite me!” He punches my arm. We burst into quiet laughter so as to not let anyone else know I’m awake, “You had us worried you know,” he adds on a more serious note. 

I nod solemnly, “I know, and I’m sorry,” he smirks at me, “alright, so I’m sorry for getting thrown,” He nods with a knowing smile, “But I found something.”

Kili sighs, “So I saw. When the guards at the gate spotted you just before sun down, Bilbo and Dis stayed here with you while I went out with my guards to the ruins, in fact, I only just got back.” He looks to the door as though Ada might come bursting in, “We found the arrows and the blood,” he leans in conspiratorially, “What exactly did you find up there, Griff?”

As I’m about to answer, Ada does in fact come bursting through the door, Auntie hot on his trail, “Why is the door closed,” is the first thing out of Ada’s mouth, panic written across his wrinkled face. Then he sees me, and suddenly Kili is a few feet away. His features turn from worry to joy to rage in a moment, “You!” He bellows, " _You ___are in so much trouble! Do you have _any ___idea how worried I was?!” He crosses the room so he is standing right beside me. I raise myself up more so I’m sitting properly and can better take the coming onslaught, “You could have died! You nearly did. What were you thinking going up there alone, or at all?” he doesn’t even slow down to hint that I’m supposed to answer, “You didn’t have any food, water, clothes, you left your rope behind; what if you were to fall, there’s no way you could have caught yourself without your rope.”

__Behind him Auntie is cackling, but it does nothing to undercut the rage seeping out of his every pore, “Hm? Don’t have anything to say for yourself?” there’s a beat, I stay silent like I’m supposed to, “Didn’t think so.” His arms are crossed as he taps his bare foot on the cold floor and for a minute or so that, Auntie’s sniggering, and Kili’s muttering for her to quiet down are all that can be heard. Over that minute though, I can see Ada slowly losing his nerve to be upset.  
Finally, he caves wrapping his arms around me in a hug even more constricting than Kili’s, “You are so like _him ___sometimes,” Ada says this often, and it’s either with concern embittered by scorn or adoration; I’m fairly certain it’s the former in this case._ _

___I return his hug hole-heartedly as I start to tell him what happened, “I went up to see where you and Auntie go every year, and I was thrown,” I see Kili step out of Auntie’s line of sight and shake his head before moving back, “and I didn’t think it was that bad. If I had known it would cause this much stress, I wouldn’t have gone.”_ _ _

___Ada scoffs, “Yes you would have, you just would have come back sooner,” we both smile in the knowledge that he’s right, “Well, luckily for you, there is still some time before the last light of Durin’s Day.” I can feel my face brighten at the thought that we might get to uphold our tradition of exchanging gifts in the throne room away from everyone else, “You mean,” he nods with a bitten back smile. I stand up quickly, stumbling at the lightheadedness my movement causes, but continue moving toward my wardrobe, “Go to the throne room, I have to get changed, and get the gifts.” As everyone shuffles out of the room, Ada goes only at Auntie’s prodding, I shed the dirty clothes in favor for a dark blue shirt and black trousers that hang loosely from my slim frame. Once I’m dressed, I remove the false bottom I made in the wardrobe and pull out the sketches. I haven’t the coin or the means to get anything special as I’d have to leave Rivendell for that, but I have a quill, ink, and a near boundless imagination._ _ _


	4. A Baggins Cries

I meet everyone else in the throne room as the sky is just beginning to light with the sun, “Come on, come on,” I mutter as Kili and his guards speed walk to us, “Okay!” I shout once he’s here, “How are we doing this?”

The others look around in confusion before Dis collects all the presents and passes them to me, “You hand them out this year.” I feel my heart clench in my chest, my stomach churning, my mouth’s gone dry. She can’t be serious. I-I’ve never handed out the gifts before, I don’t, what do I even do? I mean, obviously I’ve got to hand them to people, but should I go by age, hair color, hair length, height? Oh, dear. Oh, my goodness me. Um. Should I put them down, they’re a bit much to hold. 

I look around for a place to put them before simply taking a seat with a sigh. Dis, Kili, and Ada all look at each other before Ada nods and they all sit down too. Oh. I just didn’t want to bend over. Okay. “Um, so,” I look at the gifts before me and snatch one up at random, “first up is,” I read the tag and it’s addressed to me. I let out a short breath in frustration as I put it back raising a few eyebrows, but I ignore them picking up a different one, “Kili!” I pass the box to Kili, my knees bouncing with excitement, then I look around for Kili’s gift to Dis and slap Kili’s hand as he goes to unwrap it. “Hold on. You open yours at the same time as the person who got you that.” I pass Dis her gift and she looks up for permission, “Now you can both open your presents.”

Kili tears into his like a rabbid animal that hasn’t seen food in weeks and has just stumbled upon the carcass of an oliphaunt. Dis isn’t much better simply yanking a fist full of the paper off of it and moving from there. Kili laughs as he opens his gift, “I’m a bit old to have use for a wooden sword, don’t you think, mother?”

Dis rolls her eyes as she pauses unwrapping, “It’s not for you, you oaf, it’s for when we go to the Shire, so you can teach my grandson.” Kili’s face falls a bit, but he smiles at the thought after a few moments, “Thank you.” Dis smiles warmly, “You’re quite welcome,” her face contorts as she squeals throwing the box over the edge of the crosswalk leading to the throne, “You vile, vile creature!” She is shaking in disgust as Kili rolls on the ground in laughter, “Give me that sword so I may beat you with it!” I look to Ada who is biting a knuckle so he doesn’t laugh as he is sitting right next to Dis, then to Kili, “What was it?” Dis’ face turns a bright red as she composes herself, “It was nothing.” I look to Kili, but she hisses, “And they will say nothing of what it was lest they wish to lose their heads.” Kili turns his laugh into a cough, “Quite right, mother.”

I sigh at having been barred from the joke as I continue handing out gifts. Ada gets a new set of dice made from the starlight gems the Elves were after in the Battle from Dis and a diamond encrusted letter opener from Kili with the claim that he probably needed a new one since he gave his last one to Frodo nearly two decades ago. Dis got a flute made from the finest wood in Rivendell that I picked out when Ada took me to the market, she absolutely gushed over it as before giving it a go. Kili’s gift was one that Ada got on his own, and I’m not quite sure what the meaning behind it is, but Kili went into a fit of laughter at the miniature barrel. I have a feeling it’s a part of their tale that I’ve been kept in the dark about or was summarized.

At the end of it, there’s just my drawings to them left, each one in a frame Andriel helped me carve, and those are inside of wooden boxes that I made and carved their portraits into. I hope they like them. I hope they didn’t get me anything too expensive. Why did I not just buy them something? Oh, Valar! I completely flubbed on the texture of Dis’ hair in the carving. Oh, and what was I thinking? I did the same thing for all of them! I should have made an arrowhead for Kili and a statuette for Dis. Wait, no, Kili has plenty of arrowheads, they’re all on arrows too. Drat. Would they be mad if I threw the boxes over the side like Dis did and then just gave them two gifts next year? Seeing that I’m conflicted over my gifts, Kili quickly snatches one up, “This one’s for you, mother.” I grab her gift to me in defeat and slowly and carefully open the gift. She seems to be waiting until I open mine before she opens hers. Oh. I swallow thickly as I pull the gift out from the side and find something I’ve never seen before. It’s an incredibly detailed scene of Ada and she sitting on their balcony, Kili laughing, and me sitting on the perch they had built for me three Durin’s Days ago. The carved scene is encased in a ball of clear crystal with more small starlight gem shavings floating around inside. 

I hold my breath at the sight before sighing out, “It’s beautiful.” I turn it over making the starlight swirl about and see an inscription on the bottom that reads _The happiest moments happen here_. I nearly cry as I set it down on its rocky base, clearly meant to be Erebor, “Thank you so much, Auntie.” 

Oh! And I did my stupid drawing. Oh, dear, I just feel awful. The others’ gifts need to be absolutely awful. I can’t handle three times the guilt that is currently tearing up my stomach and squeezing my heart. Dis yanks off the first piece of paper around the box and I realize Kili gave it to her upside down. She tilts her head curiously before tearing off the rest of the paper. Her brows knit together at the seemingly bland block of wood in her hands.  
She quickly fixes her features to look like they do when she’s laughing with Ada and how she’ll look when she meets her grandchild. Her fake smiles are just the same as her real ones. It’s what makes gift giving awful, “Thank you,” she says sweetly. 

I clench my jaw and look down at the other gifts, “He gave it to you upside down.” I know when she flips it over because the lot of them gasp at the horrendous portrait, “I couldn’t get your hair right, and,” Dis shushes me, “It is wonderful!” I shrug not entirely sure if she means it, “Truly, it is magnificent, Griffo.” I look up not really believing her, but wanting to. She holds it in front of her for a few moments more not looking at anything but the box. Shaking her head she looks up with bright eyes, “All right, the sun’s almost up, we should hurry.” I blurt out, “You’re not going to open it?” Her head tilts before she runs her fingers along the edge of the drawing and she finds the small divot in the wood that she uses to open it. She sets it down lifting the drawing from the box in near reverence, “How did you…” I smile seeing that she’s genuinely pleased, “I’ve seen portraits over the years, so I just drew you all how I thought you would look in that moment.”

I’d drawn her standing with Fili and Kili on either side of her with Thorin and Bilbo standing together with them. When she sets it down and I can see her face once more, she’s got tears streaming and she throws a hand over her mouth to catch a sob. What? No, she...she liked it! Why is she crying, I-I thought that...I thought she would enjoy it. Ada sees the picture as he pulls Dis into a now tearful hug. I-I didn’t mean for, for this. Gah! I am so stupid! Dis’ sobs are muffled by the pounding in my ears, and I can tell my vision is clouding from my own tears. What in Mordor is wrong with me? Why did I think that was a good idea? I stand up and run out of the throne room leaving my last two gifts wrapped and untouched. I run silently wiping my eyes to my room and lock the door. I move my wardrobe and bed in front of the door before I collapse against the wall finally letting my tears fall.

I shake with the force of my crying and there are wretched choked out sobs coming from my throat as I struggle for breath. I curl onto my side wishing I hadn’t drawn that stupid picture. I should have known that she wouldn’t like it! I close my eyes and put my hands over my ears as I roll onto my knees folded over on myself. I can’t do anything right!  
I ran off and nearly died leaving them to panic and fear for my life for hours! Then I give Auntie Dis that picture. I can’t adventure like Ada and Kili. I’m not a good Hobbit, no matter how hard I try to be. I can’t eat everything Ada sets in front of me at all those ridiculous meals; what kind of small creature can eat almost ten times a day? I don’t know why he would put up with that Hobbitch Lobelia with all the stories he’s told of her wretchedness. I don’t even have hairy feet! I’m not a Baggins, and I’m not even a proper Hobbit. 

I’m not anything. I’m nothing, and as nothing, it seems I can’t do anything right. I slam my fist down onto the floor and just keep doing it over and over again. I sit up so I can put more force behind the punches. I don’t stop when I see the first drop of crimson. I don’t stop when there’s a large pool of it forming. I don’t stop when I hear the crunching of my bones. I only stop when I can’t feel the pain. Then I move on and start punching with my other hand until it’s numb and useless to me. Then I just sit there with my bloody hands cradled on my lap as I fold back over myself and keep sobbing.


	5. And a Durin Dies

I’m not a very difficult girl, in my own fine opinion, and I am quite intelligent: It’s not bragging if I’m simply stating a fact. So how I always seem to find myself in these situations is beyond me. Cotto would probably say that I’m too proud. I’d say I’m just proud enough. I look around the room full of angry Brandybucks and spot two friendly faces: Meriadoc Brandybuck, the one who got me into this mess, and my other sister, Illídriel Itaril, who will undoubtedly get me out of it. Her auburn braid and Elven height make her and Merry easy to track through the crowd of brown and blonde curls. 

I back into a corner without meaning to as the mob closes in. I can hear the usual terms, “trouble maker,” “rotten girl,” and “proud fool,” from the crowd around me, but it’s the new one that catches my attention, “half-bred mutts, the lot of ‘em.” I spin around to the Hobbit who said it, a cruel smirk on his face because he knows he said it loud enough. He doesn’t think I’ll do anything because we’re in public and this is the Shire. I may have spent all 76 years of my young life here so far, but that has done nothing to make me conform to being Hobbit-y. 

As I yank him over the heads of the other Hobbits around me with one arm and set him up to receive a punch, I smile wickedly as I think of all the times my mother said I took after my father. Quick to sacrifice myself for those I love and even quicker to pick a fight over matters of family. I punch him in the nose hard enough for there to be a sickening crack that causes a ripple to pass over the room quieting everyone in it and freezing Merry in his place. Ill continues to weave her way through the crowd. I go to punch him again, but she grabs my fist whispering, “You’re just proving him right.” I drop him to the floor and allow my sister to lead Merry and I out of the still frozen Smial and onto the streets of Hobbiton. When she turns to me though, I cut her off before she can start ranting. I’ll leave that to mother, “You heard what he said. You can’t say he didn’t deserve it.”

Merry’s eyebrows draw together in confusion as he keeps pace between us now that I’ve removed my hand from Ill’s grasp, “What’d he say?”

Ill ignores him, “You can’t just punch people who say things you don’t like. If we were anywhere else in all of Middle Earth, that would have been the least offensive thing you’d heard. And I’m more upset by the thing that got you into that mess in the first place.”

Merry grunts, “ _What_ did he say?”

I sigh with a roll of my eyes, “It wasn’t that bad. We just… _liberated_ some rabbits from the Brandybucks.” Ill’s mouth drops open so she looks like a fish, “Oh, stop with the judgment, we were saving them from being turned into stew.”

She narrows her round blue eyes in suspicion, “You’re just saying that so I don’t take mother’s side.”

I shake my head so my blonde hair moves in front of my shoulder, “No, I’m being serious. We couldn’t just sit back and watch them be slaughtered.”

Ill bites her lip, “Animals are more Cotto’s thing, Dwyn.”

I shrug, “She’s a very exemplary person, Ill. I could do well to follow her example.” It also wouldn’t hurt my chances at finally getting Merry to stop gawking at her. What’s so impressive about a bookish girl who will live for eons and spend them inside a book?Nothing when she’s compared to a woman of action. Sure, she’s the...better endowed of the three of us, but Merry doesn’t care about that. He’s never seen any woman for her looks rather than her personality. 

Merry smiles at the mention of our triplet, Cotto, who has been curling her pale gold locks since she figured out that Hobbits have curly hair and she doesn’t. She looks amazing with them, but I hate that she does it to fit in rather than out of preference. Merry’s smile soon fades when he remembers that he has a question, “ _What did he say?_ ”

Ill turns to him trying to think of how to put it in a way that he wouldn’t go back there and do what I did, which, considering how he feels about us, especially Cotto, is precisely what he will do. “He said some unkind things.”

Merry narrows his eyes, “Like what?”

I supply the insult before Ill can “handle” him the way she does, “He called my sisters and I a lot of half-breeds.”

Merry’s face instantly reddens as it contorts into a scowl so fierce I might actually be a little afraid of his rage, “I swear to the Valar-” Ill cuffs him on the back of the head lightly, “Calm down, Merry, it’s not like Dwyn didn’t handle it. She may have handled it poorly,” she adds with a pointed look between the two of us, “but she took care of it nonetheless.”

Merry is still scowling, though not quite so severely and his face was it’s normal shade of tan before long, as we walk up to Mother’s bakery. It’s easily the tallest structure in the Shire, and by far the most successful business. The smell of sweets and the site of Samwise Gamgee sitting at the counter with Cotto greets us as we enter. I tuck my left hand into the pocket of my crimson skirt to hide the blood as I wave to Sam, “Hello, Sam.”

He doesn’t look at us as we draw nearer, not that I expected him to. Once he gets going on asking one of us about what it’s like to be Elvish, even half, _especially_ half, it’s almost impossible to stop him. It’s the box of sweets slipped between them by mother with the order on top of it that disturbs their rapturous conversation about hair treatments. He’s been prodding us for information sense he was a small boy. Not that we mind, it’s just...how does one still have questions after nearly fifty years? 

He looks up with a smile to mother, “Thank you again, Mistress Itaril, for letting me borrow Mistress Cotto.”

Mother smiles at him, “It’s no trouble, Samwise, truly.” She’s long since given up hope that he would simply call her Tauriel. The only reason he doesn’t call Ill, Cotto, and I Mistress Itaril is because that would just be too many Mistress Itarils. Samwise stands up with the box of pastries and heads out either to the Gamgeee household or Bag End. 

Cotto turns to us smiling in greeting, “Hello,” she says it to us all, but she looks at Merry when she says it. I tilt my head with the slightest narrowing of my eyes and she looks away. She said she wasn’t interested in Merry, but lately I’ve been catching her looking at him more and more. I should see about Pippin. If she accepts Pippin’s advances, then Merry will have to move on. 

Ill sighs breathily at the interactions of Cotto and I before taking Sam’s seat before Merry can get to it, “So, how was your day, Sister?”

Cotto shrugs as she unconsciously starts picking at the corner of the cover of the book currently face down on the table, “It was fine. I’ve been helping mother mostly, and then Sam came in and he,” I tune her out and look to Meryr who nods at the door.

I follow him out onto the street and we set to walking in the general direction of the Tooks, He’s silent for a long time before gritting out, “Did he really call you that?” It’s clear he’s been working himself up over this again.

“It’s like Ill said, I took care of it.” I shrug off his worry. It really wasn’t much of anything in hindsight, it was rather petty actually. In a few years, I’ll hardly remember the incident, and in a few decades it will be a dusty memory only recalled hazily at Ill or Cotto’s mention of the day. It was not worth violence. I could have easily intimidated him instead.

Merry murmurs something disgruntledly as he kicks a rock with his bare feet muttering as he then limps for a step or two, “Just because it’s not much doesn’t mean it’s not important.” I raise an eyebrow at him, “What do you mean?” Merry huffs in clear annoyance at not knowing how to properly word his thoughts, “It’s like-well, it’s like a Hobbit really,” my hook an eyebrow in confusion. He simply laughs before explaining while we head closer to the bridge leading just east of Took land, “It doesn’t seem like much now, but give it time, and you’ll wish you’d taken it more seriously.” I nod in understanding as he moves on to tell me about the basest thought of his argument, “If you let that one person say it, then others will start to listen and then think it, and soon everyone is saying it. I may not see that day, nor my children after me, but you,” he looks up at me sadly, “you lot will.” He frowns deeply, “And that will not be a proud day for the Shire, or Hobbits, at all.”

He looks back to the road with a sigh, not knowing what to do about this thing that is clearly bothering him. I start to think of ways we could get back at the Brandybuck, but I stop when I realize that what Merry wants isn’t revenge, it’s justice. I’ve always had a difficult time telling the difference between the two while Cotto has always seen it clear as day. Perhaps…”What’s that?” I look at Merry, then follow his extended arm to the river, “That there, floating in the river.” My blood runs cold when I see the oddity on the water. I squint to see it better in the vain hope that I saw it wrong the first time, but no matter how I look at the floating mass, it’s still a girl. It’s still a honey blonde Hobbit girl no older than twenty one. She has Took blood in her, but it’s mixed with something harder than most Hobbits. She could almost be passable for my sisters or I if you replaced Hobbit blood with Elf. She’s a Dwarven Hobbit.


	6. Things Improper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small bit of fluff before the adventuring begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cotto's POV

My sister, Dwyn, hasn’t been the same since she found the girl. I still don’t know the name of her, or even her family. We don’t know where she came from, and we don’t know where she died. We being the Shire. She’s barely come out of her room since she found her with Merry. Merry’s not been affected nearly as deeply, though I’m not too sure that anything could put a damper on his spirit. It’s quite admirable really. 

Not that Merry’s admirable. Well, he’s not...um, _un_ admirable, it’s more like...I don’t admire him? I’m not quite sure what the rules about Merry are. I try to be nice, and I get yelled at by Dwyn, but if I ignore him, I feel guilty because he isn’t responsible for how Dwyn feels about him and how he feels about...well, how he feels. 

I pull my white dress with orange floral accents up before sliding my arms through the sleeves. I set about doing up the buttons in the front of the dress that begin at my breasts and extend to just below my chin. I’m in the middle of gliding the fifth and final button through its slit as a disembodied fist raps on my window causing me to jump and trip over a stack of books. Merry whisper-shouts, “Are you almost done in there?” as I pick myself up from the wooden floor of our Smial. 

I should have known it was him. Hardly anyone outside of our little group talks to me, and no one other than him would think knocking my bedroom window would be a good idea. I start the impending scolding with a stern tone, “Meriadog Brandybuck,” I walk to the window and throw it open, “ _what_ are you doing?” Merry is sitting outside my window with a hand over his eyes, “You cannot just sneak up to someone’s window and knock on it.”

Merry drops his hand with an indignant grunt, “What are on about, Cotto?” He turns to face me, “As I recall, it was _you_ who said I should knock.”

I close my eyes pinching the bridge of my nose as a sigh escapes me. I drop my hand from my nose so he can see the thoroughly unimpressed expression I’m wearing, “I meant that you should knock on the door to the Smial so someone might answer it, show you inside, and then you could wait until I was ready.”

Merry scrunches up his face, his voice dripping with mock disgust, “Where’s the fun in that, eh? That’s so… _proper_ and you are so, so _not_ proper.”

I look down at my dress concerned that it’s too not-Hobbit-y, but then I get his meaning and try to keep the hurt from my face. I turn around and set to picking up the books I knocked over in silence. I can hear the grass compress as Merry shifts, and I can’t help but hate it. I hate that I can hear the grass, that I can see farther than a hawk, and I hate that I won’t grow old until Merry and Sam and Frodo and Pippin’s great grandchildren have great children of their own ten times over. I want to be _proper_.

Merry climbs in through the window asking, “Why are your books scattered about, I thought Il was the messy one.”

It takes everything in me not to snap at him and tell him he has no right to call her Il or come into my home, let alone my room, without an invitation, but I know he does. He’s my friend, and that’s not going to change because I’m _improper_. “I tripped over them.”

He chuckles softly as he walks to my vanity to look at it, “I thought you were the graceful one.” As if we don’t all have fifty times the grace and balance as anyone else.

“Yes, well,” I sigh as I finish stacking the first pile, “I’m the clutsy one, Dwyn is the fierce one, and Il is the graceful one.” My words come out short and harsh, far from the controlled and measured tone I was hoping for, “Sorry, I just...I tripped over them when you knocked.”

Merry crouches down across the scattered books from me and begins setting up the third pile, “I should be the one apologizing,” I look up to meet his kind gaze as he smiles. I tuck a loose curl behind my ear already forgiving him, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I keep my face the same remembering to give a small smile before returning to stacking, “It’s fine,” I say to the books, “It’s not like you meant to do it.” I swallow when our hands brush as we reach for the last book. Instead of the normal warmth and kindness that rushes through me when we touch, I only feel the slightest repulsion. 

I jerk my hand back, instead standing up and smoothing out my dress, “Are you going to come out with me or go back through the window?”

Merry scoffs rolling his eyes playfully, his mouth quirked up at the edges, “I was thinking we could both just go out the window, it’d save us time and it’s not like we have to worry about being proper.”

His words sting as they pierce my skin and settle deep inside of me. I turn to him with as much of a smile as I can manage through the pain and tell him, “All right. Lead the way.” 

He smiles as we walk to the window. He climbs out and begins talking, but I can’t hear any of it, it’s just music playing in the background of a party at this point. I lock the window once he’s outside and I walk out of my room. Mother is out with Il as it’s her turn to run the deliveries. I head to the front door swiftly and silently, sliding the lock Dwyn made into place. I never thought I’d be so happy for my sister’s paranoia. 

Once the door is locked, it’s only a few moments before I hear Merry call out playfully, “You are quite determined for me to knock aren’t you?” My breath catches as I step back from the door. I turn away, but can’t force myself to move any farther when there’s a knock at the door. It’s a single knock, short and not at all formal, quite like Merry himself. It’s the knock I always hear him use. 

For a second, I want nothing more than to turn around and go with him to the party. It would be the first time in more than a year we went out alone, without my sisters or our friends, but I make myself stay where I am. Someone so… _improper_ and not at all Hobbit-y would sully the reputation of a Hobbit if they were seen alone. In another fifty or so years, Merry will be dead, and will have long forgotten about the improper Elven girl who he used to fancy. This is better. He can have a life with Hobbit girl, a _proper_ hobbit girl, one who doesn’t have to curl her hair, duck when she enters the room, and certainly won’t look like a young woman while his remains are turning to dust.

Merry knocks again, this time his fist pounds on the door and he shouts with worry in his voice, “Cotto, are you all right?” A pause, “Is it something to do with Dwyn? I-I...Did I do something wrong?” 

I take a deep breath bracing myself for what’s to come, “Merry, I-I’m sorry, I can’t go to the party.” Dwyn’s given up on virtually everything, she couldn’t care less about what happens with Merry anymore. Who have the boys talked about before? Sam is head over hairy feet for Rosie Cotton. Frodo...Frodo’s never shown much interest in anyone but Il, and that lasted for a single date before they both decided friendship would be much better for the two of them. Pippin mentioned a girl to Merry that he thought Merry would do well with. What was her name? “You should dance with Merrigold.”

Merry scoffs as he shifts on his feet, “I’m not interested in Merrigold, Cotto.” What is he doing? “I...I’m interested in you,” he says through the door. 

I wipe away the single tear that I allow to fall as I open the door, “You shouldn’t be interested in someone so improper, someone who could never be Hobbit-y.” I swallow thickly after I say it, and I look around to make sure no one is taking too much notice, “You deserve to be with someone who can give you everything you want.”

He deflates a bit, but there’s still a hopeful smile playing on his lips, “I don’t want proper. I want someone who can’t give me a simple life in the Shire. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t really like simple.”

I smile sadly at him, “Yes, I recall the dragon incident quite well.”

He states with a proud smile, “And there are plenty more incidents like it.” Before I can say anything else, he asks me, “Can you say that you aren’t interested in me as well?” When I look away, I can hear his smile widening, “Well that settles it then. We are both interested.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discontinued Notice

I'm sorry I didn't tell you that this was going on hiatus when it happened, but life got very complicated very fast, and I always assumed that I would get back to it before too long. I am also sorry to say that I will not be continuing this story any further.


End file.
